Louisa Heaton – Saving The Single Dad Doc (страница 3)

And they allowed him to do his.

For a little while longer anyway.

He hoped that this Bethan character was a strong applicant. Her CV was impressive.

By all accounts in her last post she had started up a support group for people with anxiety and panic attacks. Somewhere for them to get together and share stories and ideas in the hope that they could learn that they were not alone in the fight. She had also put together a volunteer ‘buddy system’, for older people who were lonely to be paired up with a younger person who could be a friend and check in on them whenever it was needed.

Her references were glowing. Her previous colleagues and partners all sang her praises and had been sad to see her go. For ‘personal reasons’, whatever that meant.

He checked the time. If she was as punctual as she said she was in her CV, no doubt she would be arriving in the next ten minutes.

There was a small mirror above the sink in his room, and he quickly checked his reflection to make sure that he didn’t look too rough—that there was some colour in his normally pale cheeks. That was the problem with being a redhead—he had such pale skin that when he was actually sick he looked deathly.

He rubbed his jawline, ruffling the short red bristles, and figured he’d have to do. There were some dark shadows beneath his eyes, but there was nothing he could do about those.

Cameron sat down in his chair and his gaze fell upon the one small picture of his daughter Rosie which he allowed on his desk. In it she sat on a beach, with the sun setting behind her and her long red hair over one shoulder as she smiled at him behind the camera. She’d put a flower behind her ear and begged him to take a picture.

She’d looked so much like her mother at that moment he’d almost been unable to do so. For a moment it had been as if Holly was looking back at him, smiling. She had simply taken his breath away that day. He had almost put the camera down.

‘Daddy! Take my picture!’

He was doing this for her. It was all for Rosie now. They didn’t have long left together and he wanted whatever time they had to be spent together, having fun and making memories, so that she remembered him long after he was gone. His voice, his laughter, how much he’d loved her, how much he’d wanted to spend time with her. He wanted her to know that she had been cherished and adored.

So it didn’t matter if this Dr Bethan Monroe was a three-headed monster from Mars—he needed someone to take his place at the surgery and soon. If she was qualified, and didn’t have a death sentence of her own, then she was going to be perfect for the job.

His phone buzzed. Janet from Reception. ‘Aye?’

‘Dr Bethan Monroe is here to see you.’ Janet had put on her ‘customer service’ voice. It always made him smile when he heard it, because she somehow lost most of her Scottish brogue and sounded more English than anything.

‘Thank you. Could you send her through?’

‘Certainly, Doctor.’

He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. Everything seemed so much easier when he took a moment to do that. Took a moment to meditate. To calm the body. Concentrate on his breathing.

Perhaps I ought to take up yoga? he thought with amusement.

There was a slight tap at the door.

He opened his eyes and stood up. ‘Come in!’

Janet came in first, smiling, her bonny cheeks rosy-red. ‘Dr Bethan Monroe for you. Can I get you both a pot of tea? Or coffee?’

He lifted his hand to demur, but then he caught sight of the tall, willowy woman who had walked into his room behind his receptionist, her long, chocolatey locks of wavy hair flowing either side of her beautiful face, and he found himself unable to speak any words.

She was beautiful. Elegant. Elfin bone structure.

For a moment she looked startled, then she gathered her composure after seeing his no doubt deathly pale face and walked towards him and held out her hand. ‘Very pleased to meet you.’

Now, she did have an English accent. A real one.

He suddenly became aware of his throat. His tongue. Had the temperature of the room increased? He felt hot, his mouth dry, but so he didn’t give Janet too much fodder for the village grapevine he managed to force a smile himself and shake her hand. ‘Hello, there.’

‘Did you want tea, Doctors?’ Janet persisted, looking from one to the other with wry amusement.

He hadn’t wanted any before, but with his mouth this dry it might be a good idea. ‘Er...aye...thank you, that would be great.’

Bethan Monroe nodded agreement. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’ll be back in a moment, then.’ And Janet hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.

He couldn’t get over Bethan’s eyes. As chocolate-brown as her hair, if not more so. She also had beautiful, creamy skin, with a hint of the English rose on her cheekbones and a wide, full-lipped mouth. She looked nothing like her grandmother, whom he knew well—even though she’d refused to be his patient for years and saw Dr McKellen instead, over in the next village.

You couldn’t help but see the same faces out and about in Gilloch, and her grandmother, Mhairi, was well-known to him because of the upset between her and his grandfather years back, that probably no one except them ever talked about any more. He often saw her. She took long walks down to the wool mill, or along the front of the bay to sit outside the coffee shop, wrapped up in swathes of knitted garments and watching the fishermen come in with their catch.

‘I’m Cameron. Very pleased to meet you.’

‘Bethan. Likewise.’

‘Please take a seat.’

She was long-limbed but graceful as she sank into the seat opposite and laid her briefcase neatly against her chair. ‘Thank you.’

‘You found us all right?’

Clearly, or she wouldn’t be here, idiot!

‘I did. It’s not far from my nanna’s house. Well, my house, too, now, I guess.’

‘You’ve been back in the area for a short while?’

‘A few months, yes. I moved here from Cornwall.’

He nodded. Good. That was all good.

You’re staring.

Cameron cleared his throat and stared down at her paperwork. The only application on his desk.

‘So, we’re here to discuss the vacancy of general practitioner here in Gilloch.’

He needed time to think. Time to reorganise his thoughts. He picked up her CV and read it through as if it were the first time.

‘You’re looking for a full-time post?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’ve spent the last few years as a full-time mother? That’s correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re aware that this post is very demanding? Long hours—frequently past school pick-up time—sometimes evening work, call-outs, home visits, that kind of thing?’

Are you trying to scare her away?

She seemed to bristle slightly. Had he implied that she wouldn’t be able to cope because she had a child? He hadn’t meant to.

‘What I mean is, it’ll be an abrupt change from what you’re used to.’

‘I don’t think so at all. Being a mother is about having demands made on you all the time—all day long and sometimes through the night. There are no days off. You can’t go sick or take a holiday. You’re always on call.’ She smiled.

He nodded, seemingly unable to tear his gaze away from her. There was something so vibrant about her. So intriguing.

‘You’re absolutely right. I have a child myself. Same age as...’ he quickly scanned her personal statement again ‘...Grace, is it?’

Bethan smiled. ‘Yes. She’s just started at Gilloch Infants’ School.’

‘So has Rosie. My daughter.’

She looked surprised. ‘Which teacher does she have?’

‘Mrs Carlisle.’

‘Oh! They’re in the same class, then.’

‘I’m sure they’ll become good friends.’

She smiled at him—a beautiful smile. ‘Let’s hope so.’